Your Demons
by tinseltowns
Summary: They were different, separated by an invisible barrier called death.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eli Goldsworthy, or any other characters mentioned in this story. You'll just have to read and find out who it is. ;D

**A/N:** So, I want to thank all of you for the feedback on _Composure_ and _Fever_! I'm glad you guys liked them. :) Anyways, this is another one of my late-night deviations, inspired by the song _The Scientist_ by Coldplay. It's not too long. It takes place about a week after DTW Part 2, for future reference.

Other than that, there's nothing else to say but enjoy!

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><p>"I read a lot. You know, while I was in the hospital," Eli whispered, words floating into the air, son mixed in with thousands of others long forgotten. He was, undeniably, alone, but only to the naked eye. To him, she was sitting right beside him on that park bench, listening to him talk intently as she twisted a strand of her auburn hair between her fingers, occasionally nodding and humming in agreement.<p>

Just like old times, before it all eventually got way too complicated and turned to nothing more than dust. Now, she wasn't a physical person anymore, just a memory. But that memory of her was igniting countless flames in Eli's life. One too many had already imploded, turning his life into a scorching inferno of misunderstood words and thoughts, and full of complications he'd never thought he'd be faced with. But, of course, if he never did see these arise, it'd be much too good to be anything but a dream.

"Chuck Palahniuk, mostly, though I know you never really understood why I loved his writing. I guess you could say I can relate; now more than ever," he continued. Drama had engulfed him, unwillingly. The clichés of broken heartedness had reached him when all he wanted, or rather needed, was anything that vaguely resembled stability.

Clare Edwards. The one responsible for the feelings of resentment and bitterness forming inside his chest, but they were mixed in was just a hint of sorrow. He, though he wouldn't admit it just yet, was still madly in love with her. He wished more than anything he could push the feelings away, just as she'd done to him, but it was so damn impossible to do. She was still so fresh in his memory, yet at the same time, brilliantly clear. Her eyes, her lips, her body, the way she'd blush every time she caught him staring at her, or the little giggle she'd make after he'd slide his arms around her waist. He just couldn't let her go; there was still that small glint of hope in his fragile heart.

"I read a few of those books you gave me after our 6 month anniversary. I'd never actually gotten around to reading them when you were still here, when we were still together, even though I told you I did." She shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted, and she ended up laughing at her own failed anger.

Much to Eli's dismay, no musical laughter floated into the air, no sound came out of her mouth at all. It made him feel empty again, like he'd failed her. He had failed her, but it hadn't been as obvious to him back then as it was now. Even if she was right next to him, she was still so far away; millions of miles, somewhere where he wouldn't be able to travel unless he decided to take his own life. But still, he liked to think she was still there physically, pretend that instead of the rest of the empty bench beside him, she was there, grinning at him with her sea-glass eyes shining at him.

"I wish you could talk to me, you know? You always gave such great advice. You always knew exactly what to do, even if you didn't do it yourself," Eli admitted, pulling his legs up onto the bench, crossing his legs Indian-style. "I mean, I just don't know what to do anymore.

I didn't know what to do back then, either, but at least I had someone to feign figuring everything out with. Now, I'm just alone. I have no one. You're gone, Clare's gone, everyone's gone." It was tearing him apart; the being here on earth, but not being here at the same time. It was like he was trapped in between one room and another, a ghost in between whatever lies ahead and living. All the emotions were crashing down on him and suffocating him, and as hard as he tried to come up for air and save himself, there was something tying him down; a metaphorical anchor keeping him from being totally live. He hated it.

She didn't know what to do for him. All she could do was sit there, invisible to everyone but him (as she assumed) and watch him break apart. It broke her, too, but instead of becoming less and less of a person, it just hurt. She wasn't even a person anymore, just…a memory.

A memory that only made things worse for him, that made the girl he'd fallen in love with turn him away.

A memory that destroyed any chance of him being considered a mentally sufficient human being, and turned him into a crazy, medicated manic.

A memory that made a tortured soul out of a boy who loved sarcasm and heavy metal music.

She'd destroyed him from the inside, broken down and built up walls that were stronger than ever before, and driven everyone away from him, made them afraid of him. What was she? She knew that they weren't even close to the same. They were different, separated by an invisible barrier called death. She was on one side, he was on the other. One day, he would be there with her, but there was always that 'what if?', wondering if he'd want to have anything to do with her or not. All she could do was hope he would. After all, he was talking to her again, after everything she' done.

Eli sighed, resting his elbows on his jean-clad thighs. His hands ran through his matted black hair, ragged and in need of a haircut. Haircuts were the last thing on his mind, though; it was too busy racing with thoughts on how to make everything okay again. He needed to fix things, before they became totally irreparable.

He needed to fix things with Clare, with Adam (who he'd been avoiding out of pure lack of confidence), and fix things with his parents. They'd been there for him since the beginning, but all he'd managed to do to them was shut them out and lie to their worried faces. They'd offered to get him help post-release from the hospital, and reluctantly, he'd accepted it. Therapy wasn't going to be something he was going to look forward to, but even he thought he could use the help. Medication was the next step, which he'd obliged to a little more easily. It was supposed to relieve his constant anxiety; his hands always seemed to be shaking, even with the help of the pills. His mind was still racing, but the voices were getting a little bit quieter with the days and weeks that were to pass.

Still, although he was getting so much outside help, there was still the obvious matter of what was going on inside of him. He needed to figure out just who Elijah Goldsworthy was, since he'd lost track of that long ago. Was he the sarcastic, comic-loving friend? Was he the brooding, hearse-driving son? Was he the independent writer with a thousand ideas and too little time on his hands? No matter what he was, one thing was constant; Clare. He didn't care if he was a mechanic, or a musician, or an author. All he wanted was her. As long as he had her, he could be the happiest man on the whole damn planet. He needed her help to get him through everything that was being thrown relentlessly at him.

"Help me, Jules."

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><p><strong>AN #2:** Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are lovely.


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